The Night It All Began

Friday, July 29, 1983 - A small town in Eastern Kentucky

As it was on most Friday nights, my friends and I were hanging out together on a corner in a rundown part of town where warehouses met the railroad tracks and bums congregated in the shadows to drink the evening's ration of cheap wine.  We ourselves being low on funds, our eclectic group had decided to purchase a few bottles of Boone's Farm wine, the cheapest buzz we could afford with the meager amount of money we scrounged from our under employed pockets and from under seat cushions in our homes and cars.  We may not get rip roaring drunk, but we would at least get a healthy buzz out of the deal.

After collecting our five cold bottles of sweet, fruity, and more importantly, cheap wine from the bum who was kind enough to purchase them for us (after the customary one bottle bribe, of course), we found ourselves semi-secluded corner of the warehouse district near where the railroad tracks merged into the main train yard.  It was dimly lit and perfect for the evening's activities.  Since there were six of us, the bums usually stayed away and left us alone.  While there were more bums in the area than there were of us, they tended to be solitary or in small groups and shied away from conflict, especially with a group of rowdy teens.

We drank our wine, cracking jokes and teasing each other.  The two girls in the group received the greater share of the attention in the form of compliments as well as jibes.  They were not much in the looks department but the more wine that was consumed, the less the guys seemed to care, although two of the guys had no real interest in either of the teen girls.  At 18 and 19, neither were girls, but it was hard to call an 18 year old drunk female a woman, at least in my opinion.

The hours began to creep by and it was rather obvious that Jill wanted to be with Jack and equally obvious that the remaining female, the one I had been working on, was not interested in a carnal rendezvous with me.  She may have been on her period or I just may not be her type.  I never found out and it never really mattered.  Of course, having her younger brother in tow may have had something to do with it.

Meanwhile Jack, having a minor buzz and still able to drive reasonably well, took off with Jill.  Ellie and her brother headed back home before his curfew and James and I headed in the general direction of  his house.  About a half mile from his house I turned south and picked up the railroad tracks and walked the trestle that crossed the creek.  While I am afraid of heights, walking the tracks at night, even the trestle, did not seem to bother me.  Maybe it is only the lack of a barrier that bothers me.

I continued walking the tracks until I came to the secondary train yard.  It was old and rarely used anymore since the glass plant that it sat beside had closed down and had been abandoned.  Even though the moon was only about two thirds full, it lit up the yard and gave it the look of an alien landscape.  Now that I was in the yard I had a couple of choices on how I could continue.  I could stay on the tracks and circle to the right or walk down the west edge of the yard and climb down over the hill to the road below and continue on.  Being lazy, I chose the shortest route.  I would have to be careful in the dark since the path over the hill was steep but it was the shortest route home.

I veered west to my left to follow the dirt road that ran the length of the rectangular shaped yard. Ahead of me, about halfway down the yard, was an old wooden building.    I had been in there a few times and it had non-working showers and toilets and a wall of beat up metal lockers.  The roof had collapsed over part of it but the rest was not in horrible shape, as far as abandoned buildings went.  There was a single bulb burning on the farthest west side, closest to the dirt road.  In the harsh yellow glare of the bulb I saw two people standing near a large sedan.  The car and the people were very near where I had to climb over the hill.  Being somewhat cautious (and a bit of a coward) by nature, I backed into the shadows and waited, hoping the two would climb back into the sedan and drive off.  I waited for quite a while.  I had waited long enough that I was about to turn and take the long way home when suddenly one of the men pointed at the other.  There was a flash, then a sharp crack.  The second man fell back against the wall of the building and slowly slid to the ground.  The shooter then looked around, eventually in my direction.  I thanked whatever god was watching over me that I had stayed in the shadows and if I was lucky the shooter did not see me.

A short while later the shooter got back into the large sedan and pulled forward to a large enough area to turn around in.  With the car moving away I took a chance and ran towards a low crumbling concrete wall in the center of the yard, hoping to find cover before the car turned around.  As the car containing the shooter came closer, it began to slow.  Fearing that I might be seen, I stayed behind the low wall until I heard the unmistakable sound of the v8 powered sedan drive off.

I stayed behind the wall, trying to slow my heart down for several minutes.  The dry grass was causing my legs and arms to itch and whatever bugs I was laying on were beginning to attack.  After what seemed like an eternity I raised my head to survey the yard.  It was as it had been just 20 minutes before.  The sound of the insects returned and the sound of traffic droned off in the distance.  I departed the safety of the crumbling wall and quickly scurried over towards the building where the shooting occurred.  I am not sure why I did this.  Had I been thinking I would have just ran to the nearest house and asked them to call the police but for some reason I didn't.  Instead I found myself standing over a recently murdered man.  Beside him was a fast food bag.  The top of the bag had been rolled down to keep the contents inside.  Though in the dim light it was hard to tell, it did not look greasy.  That piqued my curiosity enough that I picked it up and looked inside.  The bag contained 5 stacks of $100 bills.  I am sure my eyes grew wide.  I looked down at the man.  He was surely dead.  I looked at the bag of cash then I headed over the hill towards the street below continuing on my way home.

Prelude

Almost 30 years ago I witnessed a murder.  What you are about to read is the story of that life changing event and my reaction to it.

For more than 30 years I have lived in fear for my life, not knowing who I can trust or if the next person I meet on the street will be the one to silence me forever.  You believe that I am paranoid and maybe I am.  Paranoid or not, I have managed to survive despite witnessing the death of one human by another.  Part of that is due to survival instinct, some of it is luck.

I have struggled with the decision to document this story electronically for some time.  The Internet age has offered a degree of anonymity but it also can create a few problems as well.  Over the years I have kept a journal of some of the events that have occurred in my life but not a very detailed one.  A few of the notebooks were lost or destroyed at one point so those periods I will have to rely on my memory to fill in the gaps.  While it might not be 100% accurate, it will be close enough.  As time goes by I may remember more detail and insert it back into the timeline but that is not a priority.

I am not a professional writer, as you can most likely tell by the grammar and sentence structure.  I tend to ramble and sometimes I go off on tangents.  That is just me.  I write in a manner similar to my speech so this missive will be about the same read as it would be if I were telling it to you.

One last note.  The person whose account I am blogging under, "Enos" is not me.  He is allowing me to use his blogger account to keep anyone who would do me harm as far away as possible.  The story of how "Enos" and I met could easily be a whole other blog.  Maybe in time.